


Five times James broke in and one time he didn't

by CMDAK



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Protective James Bond, annoyed Q, annoying James Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 17:03:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5878684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMDAK/pseuds/CMDAK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond breaks in Q's apartment just because he can and because he knows it irritates his young Quartermaster. Q's cats are also traitors because they actually like the agent and purr at him and even sleep in his lap instead of turning him into their scratching post as they should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bonds acts like a Bond villain when given a swivel chair

**Author's Note:**

> A very kind and sweet anonymous asked for a story like this and I decided to give it a 5 + 1 treatment. I will update it as my muse dictates. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it~

Today had been the most Monday Friday Q had experienced in his life. No, not just a normal Monday, but a Double Monday in which everything that could go wrong did so and just to spite him. He was half an hour late for work because his alarm didn’t go off, his work card refused to do the thing it was supposed to do, the security guards were new and couldn't quite believe that he was the Quartermaster because he looked so young, he realized that someone had swiped his security card from home which meant that he had to disarm the bloody thing manually when he got back, his branch lost power, their generators didn’t have fuel, the bloody idiot who was sent to refuel them almost blew himself and the rest of them up, he ran out of tea, he lost his subway home, and he tripped and fell in a puddle. The day could not get any more Double Monday without turning into an entire week of Monday compressed in 24 hours.

 

But it was okay. He was a door away from the warmth and safety of his apartment and the love of his two darling cats, chubby little creatures who adored him as if he was a God and who always greeted him at the door, mewling and purring until they were rubbed behind their ears and lulled into a short nap.

 

“What the…?” He mumbled when he noticed that his door was unlocked, abandoning his keys in favour of his tranquillizing gun.

 

His cats did not greet him at the door and he worried that something bad might have happened to them as they tended to act like dogs when it came to strange people and his apartment was dark save for the pale light that came from  the TV in the living room. It actually sounded like someone was playing on his gaming console, which would be a really stupid thing to do for a thief.

 

He quietly sneaked into the room, noting that his comfortable and expensive chair which he had at his desk had been pushed in front of the TV. What kind of a burglar does that, he wondered, pointing the gun at the top of a head that seemed very familiar.

 

“I had no idea you liked shooters, Q,” James said as he swivelled around with the chair, giving Q a heart attack. “I was tempted to continue the game–” He quickly jumped behind the chair when Q squeezed the trigger. “I didn’t save over your saves, don’t worry.”

 

“You let my darlings sneak out of my apartment, you insufferable little man,” Q hissed and tried to shoot Bond in the foot. “And stop making me waste ammo!”

 

Bond dared to chuckle, jumping behind the sofa as Q tried two more times to get him. “Try not to shoot your darlings, Quartermaster. They are currently asleep on my jacket which is on the sofa. Sofa which, I might add, did nothing wrong to end up getting filled with holes by you.” That had Q lowering his gun and carefully looking where James had told him, all of his anger disappearing the second he saw his beloved kittens looking curiously at him. “And neither did I, might I add.”

 

Q threw his gun at Bond’s head, feeling oh so good when he hit him in the middle of his forehead. “You broke into my apartment, you bloody nuisance.”

 

“I don’t know about the nuisance part, but you got the bloody part right.” He didn’t exactly whine, but his voice tone was a pitch higher than usual and Q held his ground, uncaring that his agent was in pain right now. He reaped what he sowed. “Is this the thanks I get for pointing out the deadly flaws in your home security system?”

 

Great, now he was also getting a headache. It wasn’t enough that his blood pressure was probably going through the roof and that he was soaked to the bone, no. Bond, the forever bastard with the cocky and damn hot smile, insisted on also gifting him with a headache in his own home. “Excuse you, my security system is perfect!”

 

“I have been playing on your console, drinking your water because tea is pure poison for me,  and petting your cats for the past three hours, Q.” He walked around the sofa, looking so smug that Q was seriously thinking of going to the gym to put on some actual muscles so he could punch the man hard enough to knock him out. “That is not a perfect system. I was expecting at least an alarm loud enough to make me lose my balance as my eardrums exploded.”

 

Actually, Bond was partially right about the existence of an alarm. It was a silent one, one that worked even when there was no electricity and which was set to notify him the instant someone even as much as fiddled with his doorknob. And yet here he was, plotting Bond’s death after the man had tainted the air in his home with his very good smelling aftershave. How did he… Wait a minute.

 

“Bond, if you do not give me my card back this instant, I will turn you into my personal dartboard for the rest of your life,” Q snapped, holding his hand out. “Also be kind enough and tell me how the hell you stole it from me in the first place and how you figured out where it needed to be placed?”

 

The soon to be dead agent dared to dangle the card above him, not even having the courtesy to grunt when Q punched him in the stomach to get him to give it back. “Well, I was bored two days ago,” always a bloody horrible start when it came to Bond and Q was massaging his temples in advance, “and I just happened to overhear you and R talking about how one of your darlings sneaked out. The rest, as they say, is history.”

 

“Nothing from what you just said is an answer to any of my questions.”

 

James sat down on the sofa, Q’s face falling when the cats only continued to purr instead of attacking the stranger who was upsetting their daddy, and got comfortable. “The long story is as follows. I was born–”

 

Q’s eye twitched and he grabbed Bond’s collar, trying his best to lift him off the sofa. “Out, out, out. We are not at work and as such, I do not have to listen to your long rants that always end in a horrible pun or pick up line.”

 

“Actually, the puns are more of your territory,” James pointed out and Q moved his hands around his neck. “You are also horrible at giving neck massages, Q.” He grabbed his arms and Q suddenly found himself face down on the sofa, James’ hands on the back of his neck. “You place the heels of your palms against the sides of the neck and you do this.”

 

Q had no idea what Bond did, but he instantly relaxed and even started to smile, which only pissed him more. “The day I give you ah…” he trailed off and a moan escaped his lips against his better judgement, face turning instantly red.

 

“My, Quartermaster, you are so tense.” He slid his hands down his neck and focused on his shoulders, Q hearing some of his bones crack in blessed relief. “You know, you’d get rid of some of the stress if you’d start using the MI6 car service so men in suits don’t pickpocket you in the morning so they could break in your house in the afternoon.”

 

His senses finally returned to him and he jumped up, sadly missing hitting Bond with his head by only a few millimetres. “Or maybe, I wouldn’t be so stressed if the bastard in a suit that is allergic to not burning slash not blowing up slash not going through hundreds of thousands of pounds every mission–”

 

“I almost never do it on purpose and I did bring back part of the last car you gave me.”

 

His headache was back with a vengeance, especially when he realized he’d have to spend extra time rebuilding the vehicle and he tugged on Bond’s ear as punishment for interrupting him. “Anyway, if said bloody bastard would keep his hands to himself when I am in the subway and he wouldn’t do something that will land him in a meeting with HR faster than he could blink if he does it again, I wouldn't be so stressed.”

 

Bond allowed himself to be pushed towards the door, Q’s cats actually hopping down from the sofa to follow him. “I still think you need a–” Q slammed the door shut in his face, fuming. “You still need a massage, Q,” Bond shouted, sounding very amused. “Also, I kind of need my jacket back unless you want me to freeze to death on my way home.”

 

Actually, he did, but he wasn’t that petty just yet. He grabbed the man’s jacket off the sofa, saw that it was full of cat hair and then decided that it could use some more, so he wrapped it around one of his darlings - Turing, since he had more white - and then opened the door and threw it at James’ head - sans cat, of course-  slamming the door shut once more, but this time with even more force than before.

 

“You even added extra fur to be sure I am okay, how sweet of you, Q.” James joked through the door and Q had pulled his laptop close so he could watch what the man was doing. “I promise to bring you something good to eat the next time since your fridge is empty.” He turned and winked at the hidden camera before walking away.

 

By the time Q scrambled up to open the door again and order Bond to never even so much as pass in front of his apartment building, the doors to the elevator were sliding shut. “Bloody know-it-all,” he grumbled, eyes widening when he saw that his cats were pawing and mewling miserably at the elevator doors. “Babies, no.” He picked them up and walked back to his apartment, feeling them stretch as much as they could so they could keep eye contact with the metallic doors. “You don’t actually like that mean man, loves. He must have given you something or his cologne is actually made from special pheromones that make everyone like him, the sly bastard.”

 

His cats pawed at the front door a few more times, looking back at him as if they were asking him to bring Bond back while Q was trying to convince himself that he actually hated the way his chair smelled now.


	2. Yet another Monday

On the rare days when everything went without a hitch at work, he had to be sabotaged by the bloody weather. Rain, he always expected and thus, he always carried one of those extendable umbrellas after him. He had even changed its shaft, stretchers and ribs to slightly sturdier ones just to be sure that London's wind wouldn’t break it. But that horrible flow of gases on a large scale which the wind was, had decided to become stronger still and his poor umbrella was turned inside out. He did think about going back to MI6 and get a regular one, but this happened when he was closer to the subway station than to the building, so he abandoned that idea.

 

That moment of hesitation caused him to miss the tube, and although this time he was inclined to hail a cab and go home, the cabs avoided him as if he had the plague because no one wanted their back seats to be soaked.

 

“I will pay fifty quid on top of the fare to whomever takes me home,” he shouted on top of his lungs, exasperated, and that was enough to get two cabs to come to a screeching halt right next to him, their drivers struggling to be the first one out with an umbrella for him.

 

He had neither the patience nor time for that because he wished to avoid getting pneumonia, so he pulled open the door to the car which was the closest to him and slid in, the cabbie actually sticking half of his body out the window to flip off his competition before he asked for the address.

 

Of course he’d end up with a very talkative cab driver and agonizingly slow traffic - they were actually stopped for about thirty minutes, yay for him. Why wouldn’t he be this unlucky? He was really close to exploding and starting to fuck with the man’s navigation system and phone just because he wouldn’t stop talking about the horrible things his wife made him do - take out the trash, not throw his cigarette buds in the tub, and other such horrible and inhumane demands- but they thankfully reached their destination just as he was booting up his laptop.

 

“Have a lovely night!” The driver shouted cheerfully after him just as he stepped into a puddle and cussed the weather once more and whoever was in charge of the streets.

 

He entered his apartment feeling a bit anxious that a certain agent might be found lounging on his chair again as he was casually gunning down hordes of digitalized enemy soldiers and beating his newest high score, but relief washed over him when all that greeted him was his two precious cats.

 

“Did you miss daddy?” He asked, kneeling in front of them to shower them in attention after toeing off his shoes. They nipped at his hands and licked his fingers, pushing against him to wash away the scent of all who had dared to touch their beloved master throughout the day and leave behind theirs. “Hm, what’s that you have around your necks?” He murmured when his hand brushed against two little boxes.

 

Both cats sat back and pushed their chests in front, irises almost completely black as if they were excited for him to see what they had for him. The uneasy feeling he had felt while opening the door had returned to him as he opened the box marked with a dark red ‘1’, groaning when the first thing he saw was a little note in Bond’s ridiculously gorgeous handwriting.

 

 _New system is still too weak, Q._ _Still, since it took me ten minutes instead of five to break into your home, I decided to give you some little gifts,_

_Respectfully (and I am not being sarcastic) yours, 007_

 

“You huge arsehole,” he muttered as he pulled out the earwig he had assumed Bond had destroyed on his latest mission, surprised to see that it wasn't even scratched. “I am going to hold this amazing feat, this outright miracle, over your head for the rest of your life.”

 

The second box held a pretty beaten up USB stick which normally would have him think five times before even bringing it close to any one of his computers. But hey, it was a gift from Bond, a man he fully trusted with his safety and his life even if he wanted to strangle him half of the time.

 

Quickly undressing and wrapping himself in the extra-large and extra-fluffy bath towel that Alec had swiped from a hotel and gifted it to him as an apology for accidentally throwing him into a pool while on a mission, he plugged the stick in his favourite home laptop, mouth falling open as he booted up the program.

 

It wasn’t actually a program, but a sort of a playback of one – it was a program that built a hypothetical program and showed how it might run while leaving out a few details that Q was sure would pleasantly occupy many of his days as he figured them out.

 

His beloveds curled up in his lap as he set about writing down in a physical notepad the clues he spotted and purred away through his cussing and his attempts to surround himself with the other laptops without actually bothering them.

 

Close to three in the morning – or maybe it was four, he wasn’t quite sure – the cats slid off his lap and he was able to quickly move everything on his desk, vaguely aware of the smell of jasmine that slowly filled the room.

 

“I didn’t think you’d upgrade the system tonight, but I was sure you would at least _lock_ your door behind you,” James said right in his ear, placing a mug of tea on his desk and wrapping his other arm around his chest to keep him from jumping up.

 

Q still let out loud yell and fell like he had a heart attack, elbowing Bond in the stomach and stepping on his foot with his chair when he was allowed to move. “Do you want to kill me, Bond?”

 

“You’ll find,” James said between gritted teeth, still trying to act casual despite the pain he must have felt, “that all I am trying to do is keep you safe, Q.” He nudged the chair off his foot and took off his shoe, checking to see if he was bleeding. “Then again, I might be killing you by accident since a little bird told me you came in at six in the morning and I break in your apartment at almost five in the morning on the following day to find you hunched over six laptops because of something I gave you.”

 

As if a spell was broken, Q’s eyes started to sting, the world blurring around him, and he found it very hard to stop yawning. “I might have lost track of time.” He tried to fight back a yawn, but failed and his two darlings and the pest of an agent mirrored him. “I start at two in the afternoon today so—”

 

“So you will only get about five hours of sleep provided you go to bed right now,” James interrupted him and easily lifted him in his arms. “And I will tuck you in because I am a good agent who worries over his Quartermaster.”

 

Q snorted and slapped his chest, but did little else to free himself – if the man wanted to pamper him, then so be it. He’ll still be crossed with him over the second - no, _third -_ time he broke in his home. “Tell me, Mister Bond, are you thinking of changing your profession to that of a thief?”

 

“No, but I am tempted to become an actual bodyguard.” He pulled the covers right under his neck and patted his head, knowing fully well that he wouldn’t move because his cats had already cuddled on his stomach. “Hmm, I wonder if there’s a possibility for me to make your hair even wilder than it is right now,” Bond whispered and looked at him in a strange way that made Q’s stomach feel funny.

 

“Touch my hair and I will make you bald,” Q warned. It took him ages to tame it in the morning on a normal day and he sure as hell did not want to be late for work because Bond decided to do God knew what to it.

 

Bond pulled back a bit, chuckling and shaking his head. “Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story and kiss you goodnight?”

 

“I want you out of my apartment and I want you to stop breaking into it.” He tried to move his hand to take off his glasses, but Turing purred and he froze. “Also, might you take off my glasses?” he muttered, slightly embarrassed.

 

Bond did as asked, brushing his knuckles over Q’s cheeks. “I’ll stop breaking in only when I can’t break in, Q.” He carefully put the glasses on the bedside table, kissed his cats on top of their heads and, shockingly, the top of _his_ nose. “I’ll be here to pick you up at one and personally deliver you to the HR office, so you can fill in those reports against me that you are sure to threaten me with.”

 

“I will,” Q hissed, eyes narrowed and face hot. “I really will! Don’t think I won’t just because my cats like you!” He shouted after the agent, groaning when he heard his apartment door close.

 

He was so going to replace his floors with weight-sensitive panels that sent bolts of electricity through whoever didn’t weight as much as him or as his cats. A shock or two should be more than enough to keep the pesky agent out of his home.


	3. Quartermaster-shaped handbag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Thank you so much for the kudos and comments.

He grinned in his tea mug when he heard James let out a long string of cusses and peered from behind the corner alongside with his cats at the kneeling agent. “A few upgrades to my security system from last night. Currently barbaric and reminiscent of the ‘Home Alone’ movie, but you get what it's supposed to do." He took a sip and smirked again when James groaned in pain. "I will perfect it when I come home tonight.”

 

James glared at him as he carefully removed the device Q had stuck to the door’s handle to get it to electrocute him. “I’ll be extra careful in the future if I see a ‘welcome’ mat in front of your apartment. You saw me coming on your hidden cameras, didn’t you?”

 

Q grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “The first thing I see when you are involved, Bond, is your ego. That or an explosion.” He trotted back to the kitchen, followed by his cats and agent. “I thought I dreamt you being here this morning. And yet—”

 

“Do you usually dream of me, Quartermaster?” Bond interrupted him, brushing against him as he moved to take the empty mug from him and wash it.

 

“I don’t dream of you, Bond. I have nightmares in which you just so happen to be the main character,” he said dryly, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Bond chuckled and turned to wink at him, putting the mug back in its place – and how dare he know where that was? “Well, I have only the sweetest of dreams involving you. And your cats,” he added quickly when the two started to mewl and paw at his feet.

 

“You want something,” Q murmured, eyes narrowed. “Or you already got what you wanted and you know I will be really crossed with you when I find out what you took and you are trying to pacify me.” Yes, that definitely sounded like something Bond would do. He had no new cars that would interest the man, the finished guns were all accounted for and locked in the armoury – though Bond more than proved his breaking and entering skills, so Q would have to yet again upgrade the locks to that part of MI6 – and he had already been equipped with the latest tracker, lighter, watch, tiepin, ring, and shoelaces. Anything else that might have interested him was still in research state.

 

“You space out a lot,” Bond said from right in front of him, startling him as he poked his nose. “And all I want is to get you to work before Eve and Tanner break down your door to rescue you from my clutches, castrating me by pure accident in the process.”

 

Q huffed, backing away from Bond. “I don’t do it when I am guiding agents, if that is what you are afraid of.” He grabbed his jacket and his laptop case, walking to the front door. “Are you done being my maid? Or should I grab a cab, hope I am not late, and change your status from ‘active field agent’ to ‘Quartermaster’s cleaning lad’?”

 

Bond winked at him and sneaked an arm around his shoulders, grinning. “That depends: do I get to help you turn down your bed with you every night?”

 

It was really hard to believe that he was dealing with a grown man who also happened to be deadly with both the ladies and an actual gun. “I am being punished for something I did in another life, I am sure of it,” he muttered, pushing Bond away. “And I don’t have time for that, so you’ll excuse me while I order a special MI6 c—”

 

“You’ll be in your precious lair in a jiffy, my always on the run Quartermaster,” Bond interrupted him, wrapping an arm around his middle and holding him under his armpit as if he was a cheap painting. “Say goodbye to your daddies,” he called over his shoulder to the two cats who mewled in their direction as if they were also saying goodbye.

 

“Put me down so I can lock the door, Bond,” he tried, but the bloody man just shuffled closer to the locks. “I can walk, you know.”

 

“Wasting precious time here, Quartermaster,” Bond sing sang and ruffled his hair.

 

Their position the elevator ride down remained the same, Bond having the gall to actually start humming while Q was trying to teach him the proper way to treat his superiors and human beings in general, because even if he had the suits, the cars, the smile – No, Bond, I do not find your particular smile _alluring_. Stop putting words in my mouth and if you make the comment I think you plan on making, I really will go to HR today – the cars, the bank accounts, and the hidden title of a gentleman and sir, it was clear that he lacked the manners of one.

 

He was still going on about it when Bond started the car, only shutting up because the world was moving by so fast that he was pretty sure he was actually seeing his entire life flash before his eyes.

 

Bond did not care that the yellow colour of a traffic light meant that he had to start slowing down. In fact, he did the exact opposite and Q dug his nails in the leather dashboard as they narrowly avoided all sort of other cars that were around them, starting to have second thoughts about fearing flights as long as Bond wasn’t the plane’s pilot.

 

The second they stopped in front of the MI6 building, Q stumbled out of the car, the guards quickly running out of the building to help him steady himself. “You animal,” he hissed at the agent who was looking at him with genuine surprise on his face. “You horrible, petty man! I was careful not to cause you any real harm, but you!” He whirled around and poked Bond's well-toned chest. “Your maniac driving almost killed us.”

 

“I was only trying to—”

 

“Get revenge for the little shock I gave you by making me age ten years in thirty minutes and by giving me even more grey hairs than you already have, I know.” He took a deep breath, straightened out his jacket and glasses and cleared his throat. He was a professional and he was going to act like one, even if Bond insisted to act like a sullen child. “Thank you for the ride, but I will never, for as long as I live, get in a car with you again.”

 

“What if your life is in danger and I am the only agent who can take you to safety?” Bond asked as he trailed behind him at a safe distance. “Or if you need to get somewhere really fast because only you hold the key to saving the world in that marvellous head of yours and the phones signals have been cut? Or what if an agent needs you and I am the only one who can take you to him?”

 

Q was starting to really hate sharing elevators, especially since Bond’s cologne was becoming addicting. “Okay, I will get in a car with you only in those circumstances.”

 

The elevator got even more crowed at the next floor and Bond pushed Q into a corner, placing his hands against the wall. “What if you’re wounded?” Bond whispering made everything seem even more intimate and Q pushed his glasses up his nose, turning his head away because he would not fall for anything the man had up his sleeve.

 

“I think it falls under the first category, Bond. Plus, if I get hurt at work, Medical is only a floor away from my branch.” A thought crossed his mind and he quickly turned to face Bond, their noses almost touching. “Please don’t ever drive me to Medical from my own department in a car. I have little doubt in my mind about your ability to do that and I am getting dizzy just thinking of the damages you’ll cause.”

 

Bond chuckled, starting to play with a strand of Q's hair – somewhere in the back of his mind, Q realized that this was beyond unprofessional and that there were a lot of people present there who would blow this out of proportions, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care all that much. “Despite your earlier accusation of me trying to give you grey hair, it is still quite a lovely shade of brown. Shade which I am afraid might change for real if I did actually do that, so I promise that I won’t.”

 

Someone cleared their throat and Q felt his face heat up a little when he tilted his head and saw Eve holding the empty elevator’s doors open, brow arched. “I do hope I am not interrupting anything?”

 

“Just Bond being the usual pest,” Q said quickly, ducking under Bond’s arms. “Ah, before I forget…” He held his hand out, tapping his foot. “I don’t know why you took them just now, but I’d like my keys back.”

 

For the first time in forever, Bond did just as he was told, but instead of simply giving them to Q like a _normal_ human being, he slipped them in the back pocket of his pants. “I liked the kitten keychain you had on them?”

 

Q let out an exhausted sigh, shaking his head. “Grow up, 007.”


	4. 39.2 °C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments 
> 
> : )) Q has some special glasses which allow him to completely miss James' passes on him.

If he didn’t stop sneezing or coughing soon, he was pretty sure he was going to end up seeing his lungs flying across the room. And a Quartermaster without lungs which were needed to raise his voice at certain stubborn and childish agents was a useless one. Also a dead one, since people still needed air to live and lungs were an important _machine_ of that process, but that was not the point.

 

His cats also looked worried whenever he made those horrible sounds, slowly making their way next to him to push their noses against the side of his face or his neck before quickly running on the other side of the room to hide under his armoire when he sneezed - and that, perhaps, hurt even more than his neck or head right now.

 

“Daddy didn’t mean to scare you,” he croaked out. “Come back here and keep me warm, please.”

 

His bed dipped behind him and he started to slowly reach for the gun under his pillow, because his cats were still staring at him from the other side of the room and there shouldn't be anyone else in the house to do that. “Though I don’t have fur, might I keep you warm?” James whispered in his ear, his minty breath tickling his neck as he chuckled. “And if you prefer your bed partner purring by your side, I have no doubt that you can get me to make those noises and more, my sick Quartermaster.”

 

Q turned around suddenly, wishing to scare the agent with the gun that actually only electrocuted people despite looking like a normal one, only to realize that he had pulled out an empty box of tissues. “I hate you so much right now,” he grumbled, groaning as he dropped the empty box on the floor and pushed his head under the pillow, trying to block out James’ chuckles. “Write a report about how you managed to get in my apartment for the nth time this year and leave it on my desk.”

 

Cool fingers found their way under his shirt, James starting to rub his lower back. “I actually filmed myself doing that, Quartermaster. Not the type of video with me that I wanted to send you, since I was too dressed—”

 

“Please stop tormenting a sick man, Bond.”

 

He might have been imagining that Bond nuzzled his neck due to the high fever he surely had, but the arms that wrapped themselves around his waist as he was pulled in an upright position were definitely real. “I am trying to help said sick man, if only he would collaborate with me long enough take the pills and syrup that were given to him by Medical and which he forgot at work and maybe, if we are both lucky enough, eat something?”

 

Q’s stomach lurched because he remembered the two-days old take out boxes he had in his refrigerator and without out realizing it, he turned to hide his face in the crook of James’ neck, finally dawning on him why the man’s suit cost so much. While his where rough and hard to the touch, the one Bond was wearing was soft and it made Q think of fluffy clouds as he rubbed his face against it. “My food has an actual consciousness by now and why is your suit softer than both my pillow and sheets?”

 

“Do you like my suit?” James asked slowly and Q hummed, rubbing his face against it even harder than before. “Then how about we strike a little deal: I give you my suit to sleep on if you eat the food I just cooked for you after I went shopping because I was sure you’d have nothing in there and if you take the pills.” He cupped Q’s head and tilted it back to look in his eyes, his smile soft and too contagious for Q not to mirror despite wanting nothing more than to die. “Do we have a deal?”

 

James’ cooking was legendary within MI6. Not many got to taste it personally, as he usually did that only when he was supposed to romance someone during a mission and he didn’t feel like using sex, but those few MI6 employees who were lucky enough to do so would not stop talking about it. “You cooked even though you are not on a mission?”

 

James brushed Q's hair out of his eyes, caressing his face. “Darling, you’re sick; if needed, I’d climb the highest mountain and fight all the dragons protecting the supposed magical flower that might cure you.”

 

Q glared, lips pursed. “You’ve been poking your nose in my books.”

 

“In my defence, I couldn’t help _but_ to open that book since it didn’t have a title about computers or explosives, and _especially_ since it was clearly hidden.” He pulled the covers better around Q, effectively trapping him in his own bed. “Before you say anything, I’d like to remind you that I am a spy and carefully looking around the apartment I am in is practically part of my DNA by now.”

 

“Not when you break—” He was interrupted by a combination of a cough and sneeze, the world around him filling with spots instantly. If he died right now, he would be really grateful. He’d even jump in Death’s arms, wrap his arms around its bony neck and then remember that James really couldn’t be left alone for five minutes without destroying something and pull out that one bone that would cause all the others to follow suit.

 

The agent’s beautiful blue eyes were filled with merriment and amusement, the corners of his lips twitching as he fought back a laugh. “You are every bit as dramatic as I imagined you to be, darling, and yes you said all of that out loud.” He shoved a thermometer in his mouth – Q was pretty sure he did not own an oral one or any kind for that matter – and patted his head. “I adore your voice, but deprive me of it for a few seconds while I see how high your temperature is.”

 

He tried to take it out just to be childish for once in his entire career as Quartermaster and show James just how red or white his tongue currently was, but it turned out that the man was excellent at immobilizing people without causing discomfort.

 

“39.2 °C; R should have called me earlier,” James grumbled, taking the thermometer out only to push some pills in his mouth and hold a glass of water to his lips. “Try to drink it all and then try to sleep a little. I am still waiting for the soup to start boiling again.”

 

Sleep came to him embarrassingly easily and Q was forced to admit to himself that it was because of the way James was running his hand through his hair, gently scratching his scalp with his fingernails. He was, by far, the best nurse he had ever had and if it wasn’t for his ego and doubts, he’d call him the next time he got sick.

 

When the food was done, he gently roused him and then spoon fed him, even blowing in the soup before every bite. He wiped his mouth for him, gently shooed the cats away from Q’s food and Q had to admit that this was the best dream he’d ever had of the man. Because he had decided this is what it was; a dream and nothing more because there was no way that James Bond – nicknamed ‘Sex on legs’ by some women and ‘charming dick’ by others, the man who was both the definition and the poster child of a convinced bachelor – was caring for him this much.

 

“I have to go,” James said and Q pouted before he could stop himself, his cats letting out the disappointed noises he wanted to. “Just for a little bit, don’t you three kittens worry,” he quickly added, taking off his jacket and putting it under Q’s head. “I’ll give you the rest of my suit when I come back, as per our agreement.”

 

He woke up – really woke up since his thoughts actually made sense now and he no longer felt like he was knocking on Death’s door – to someone snoring lightly up against his back, heavy leg thrown over his middle and his cats purring on his chest.

 

The snoring stopped the second he moved and the lights came on, James’ face coming into focus after the burning sensation of his eyes disappeared. “There are a lot of things in your house that I still don’t know how to use, the intensity of the light being one of them.”

 

Q blinked once and then twice and then rubbed his eyes and then carefully poked the side of James’ face, expecting him to pop. But the man was still there and quite real. “I thought I was having the most out of character dream of you.”

 

Placing a kiss on his forehead before shoving the thermometer in Q’s mouth, James grinned. “I knew you dreamed of me, my sick Quartermaster.” He raised his finger and slowly shook it, clicking his tongue. “Now, now… Let me see if your fever went down before you start chewing me out.”

 

Trying his best not to bite down too hard, Q glared daggers. The two of them were going to have a really long conversation after his mouth was free.

 

However, James’ phone had something against that and, after a growled conversation littered with sighs, a hug and a kiss on the forehead, Q was left alone with his cats and a promise that Eve would take on the role of nurse.

 

But at least he was allowed to keep James’ jacket – the pants went back on, Q’s face turning red and hot from something else than the 37.5 °C fever he had when he saw just how tight James’ briefs were.

 

 


	5. Year of the Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kudos and comments :)

Q had decided that the current year was the Year of the Mondays, where the next day was worse than the previous one. And he shivered in fear at the thought that there were still nine months to go where so much more horrible things that could happen, would happen.

 

The previous month, for example, started with the supposed death of James Bond. But Q knew better than to truly believe that and allow himself to lose to his sorrow, so he just waited patiently for the man to suddenly pop up, blocking M’s every attempt to sell the agent’s apartment while somehow managing to dodge the MI6 army of psychiatrists and still keeping his position as the Quartermaster.

 

He didn’t understand why everyone insisted on acting as if this time would be that one bloody time Bond actually died when he still saw a little bit of hope in their eyes. Why try to sell his apartment when every time a door was pushed open, they looked up at it, expecting to see the wayward agent? Well, punishment, of course, but still a very cruel one – and not necessarily for the agent, but for his handlers and friends.

 

“Q—”

 

“Sell his bloody car, not his apartment,” he interrupted Eve, making sure he had his keys and cards with him before almost stomping out of the office.

 

The woman followed him quickly, her expensive, stiletto heels which he had personally modified to hide a blade in each of them, clanking against the marble floors of his suddenly silent department. “I would, just because I know it will piss him off, except he let them all to you.”

 

He stopped suddenly then, heart fluttering in the most nauseating way. “I do not have a driver’s licence and he is more than aware of that. If he wants me to use them after his mummified ass finally turns into dust after retiring on an island full of hot women somewhere, then he will have to teach me how to drive.” He took a deep breath to clam down, ignoring the sad look the woman was giving him – because she was a drama queen, not because she really believed that Bond was dead even if this was just a couple of months away from the longest time he had played dead.

 

“Q, you could—”

 

“Go home?” He flashed her a smile and started to walk faster, almost breaking into a run. “Why, Eve, this is the only smart thing you’ve said since Bond disappeared.” He grinned at her and almost stuck his tongue out at the woman, who had stopped to slowly shake her head, hands on her hips.

 

But he wasn’t exactly out of the danger zone because the second he took a right turn, he noticed three of the eldest psychiatrists power walking towards him. “Quartermaster,” the one who usually ran around after Bond called out and Q turned on his heel to go the other way, “we really need to talk.”

  
“Make an appointment with R and I will have someone contact you with a lame excuse as to why I can’t make it.” His minions, loyal to him and his wishes even though they were worried about their beloved overlord’s state of mind, acted as a living defensive wall, keeping the psychiatrists away long enough for Q to sneak out through one of the car exits.

 

He dodged the next row of psychiatrists on his own and passed a very disappointed looking M, who really didn’t do anything to stop him or force him into attending the meetings. “Q—”

 

“Show me his body and I will personally throw myself in the arms of the doctors,” he said over his shoulder, this time starting to run.

 

He got home without any problems and was disappointed when he didn’t find his apartment broken in. And if that annoyed him more than when he found the smug agent playing with his kittens and looking like he was right where he belonged to, then perhaps he should let the army of psychiatrists catch him.

 

“And I bet that he’s on a nice beach somewhere, getting a tan and a very special massage from a very lovely woman,” he grumbled, almost ripping his clothes off.

 

His anger was subdued by his cats rubbing against his legs and nipping at his bare ankles, mewling until he calmed down and started to pet them. “He’ll be back, darlings,” he mumbled, picking them up and hugging them close to his chest. “I know he will.”

***

 

A noise startled him awake. It was nothing done by his cats – who were absent from his side and nowhere in sight – as he was used to their crazy morning runs around the house and the sounds caused by them knocking things over, so he quietly opened his drawer and pulled out an actual gun – which had been forced on him by Eve the second Bond dropped off their radars – hands shaking.

 

He waited in absolute stillness to see if the noise would repeat before he would start prowling around his apartment in search for any intruders and sure enough, not ten seconds later, the sound was heard again, followed by a hissed cuss and water running.

 

His heart filled with joy and happiness when he heard the hiss, because he knew the hiss. He dreamt of the hiss and that hiss always filled the latter half of any mission in which Bond was the active agent - in fact, if Q believed in reincarnation, he would say that Bond been a snake in his previous life.

 

He barely managed to hold himself from running in the bathroom and wrapping his arms around the agent that had to be a phoenix in disguise and took his precious time sneaking in, allowing himself a soft smile for a second before clearing his throat.

 

James turned to reveal a little cut on his half-shaved face, his chest covered in still healing bruises and cuts. “This duty-free razor is utter crap, so you’ll have to excuse me for dripping blood all over your bathroom tiles.”

 

The invisible knife that had lodged itself in his heart the second Bond’s connection to them had been cut off finally disappeared and breathing came to him a lot easier. “I can’t drive and I only have one parking space allocated to me in this building,” he whispered, taking a single step towards the man.

 

“I keep most of them in a private parking lot for which I paid for the next thirty years before leaving for this tricky mission,” James said, putting a piece of toilet paper on his face and moving closer to Q. “And I am not surprised that my spotted Quartermaster can’t drive. I am, however, surprised that I still have an apartment.”

 

Q carefully put the gun in his laundry basket. “Allow M to spare you from an extra expense when you don’t take pity on my department’s budget? Perish the thought.”

 

They were almost nose to nose now and James smirked as he ran his hands through Q’s messy and wilder than usual hair. “Your security system is still horrible, my Quartermaster.”

 

“And you are still a giant prick who insists on scaring everyone half to death with your overly dramatic way of ending a mission.” He used a towel to wipe the shaving cream off Bond’s face, brushing his thumb against his lip. “Now how are we going to fix our little problems?”

 

James hummed. “A very good question, Quartermaster. Well, since you ruined my initial plan of begging to be allowed to sleep on your sofa until I got a new apartment,” he leaned really close to his ear, lips brushing against it as he spoke, “which wouldn’t have happened for as long as you weren’t really bothered by my presence in your home,” he ran his tongue over the sensitive organ and wrapped his arms around Q when he felt him shiver, “I now find myself deciding that the best way to protect your apartment from any thrives or other evildoers is to convince you to invest in a _living_ security system.”

 

“A cunning plan, I must admit. That fixes your problem, but what about mine? Because, Bond, I really can’t go through this—”

 

James hushed him, hugging him tighter. “You won’t, I promise. I’ll do my best to be more of a spy and less of an insane mercenary while on missions.”

 

Q rubbed his head against James’ neck. “Good, because my cats would be beyond devastated if you do actually manage to get yourself killed.”

 

“Oh, I could never do that to _our_ two darlings.” He chuckled and started to push Q back towards his bedroom. “Or to the kitten I care for the most.” He carefully guided Q back under the blankets and kissed his forehead, quickly pulling back when the man let out a snort.

 

“Your beard is tickling me.”

 

“How are you ticklish on the forehead?”

 

Remembering the spot that didn’t look bruised, Q pinched it. “My nose, you bloody nuisance.”

 

“Oh, that’s your nose?” He poked it before kissing it, sitting on top of him. “I thought it was a button.”

 

That line was so horrible, that Q gave it a pass and he laughed, rolling on his side. “Go finish your shave and try _not_ to have the lamest death in all of double oh history, okay?”

 

“Yes, _darling_ ,” the man whispered in his ear before nipping it, ducking out of the room just in time to avoid getting hit with a harmless pillow.

 

When morning came and Q was awakened by his alarm clock, he had an agent tightly wrapped around his middle, looking like he was trying his best to suddenly develop Jedi powers and crush the offending machine.

 

“Stay,” the man pleaded, pushing his face against his back when Q tried to scoot away from him.

 

“Let me make sure I can.”

 

A phone call later in which he was informed that there were no important missions, presentations, or projects waiting for him and after he pretended to be sick - and he was informed by both M and Eve that he would never be a good actor, so he really shouldn't quit being the Quartermaster - his breath was being cuddled out of him by James, sleep claiming him almost instantly – or he passed out due to the lack of air, he wasn’t sure.


	6. Darling and Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for you kudos and comments :) Hope you enjoyed and had fun with this as much as I did.

Rare were the days when nothing bad happened at work _and_ on his way back home. In fact, Q was willing to risk it and call this a perfect day. Well, an almost perfect day because despite the relaxing bubble bath he was currently taking, sipping from the most divine tasting wine - that James had bought as an apology for bringing back just pictures of what was left of his equipment on a phone that wasn't even his - while listening to his favourite classical music CD, James was not yet home.

 

He wasn’t really worried about the man's absence because the agent wasn’t on a mission and he had trained his mind not to slip in that dark zone in which a little voice whispered that James had gotten bored of him and that he was probably sleeping with someone that he considered to be more interesting than his apparent room and bed mate – despite the full year they had been together and the fact that James had fully moved in his apartment, neither of them had actually used the terms ‘lover’ or ‘significant other’ when referring to each other – but his cats were clearly distraught by their other dad's absence and they kept looking around the house for him, mewling as if they were calling for him.

 

“I wonder if you do the same to him when I am not here,” Q muttered, cooing at his two darlings who tried to rub against his wet arm without actually getting wet. “You know you can’t avoid water forever, darlings. Especially since tomorrow is your bath day.” And James’ turn to give it to them, which meant that Q had to drop by a pharmacy and restock on band aids, bandages, and antiseptics.

 

He heard the front door opening then and the two cats bolted from his side, Turner slipping on the bathroom tiles twice before he managed to get out. “I finally know what a Monday on a bloody Friday feels like,” James called out, dropping his keys on the table counter before opening the refrigerator. “Did you know that the elevator broke? And that there is an actual hole in the middle of the entrance lobby? Are you in the bathroom?”

 

The elevator had been working perfectly when he returned home and he constantly reminded James to walk around that hole. “Yes to both and look at the bright side: I don’t live on the top floor and that hole is not deep enough for you to get to the basement and break your neck.” He lived one floor below and at least three of their neighbours were walking around in crutches because they didn't keep their eyes on the ground - he really hoped James was luckier than them. “But you sound like a lot more than that happened to...” He trailed off when James walked in the room, torn between amusement and worry.

 

The man was soaked to the bone, his finest suit covered in mud, his once white shirt covered in red wine stains and raw egg, and he was subtly trying to catch his breath. He looked beyond tired and done with the day, but whenever he caught glimpse of the crumbled papers he was clutching in his hand, he got a surge of energy.

 

“Date night ended with the woman throwing her wine at you, having her family or employees who worked in the restaurant's kitchen throw raw eggs at your head and then served you with a lawsuit?” Q joked, although he was praying to all the gods in the universe that he was far away from the truth.

 

James faked a laugh, starting to undress. “Really funny, Q. Remind me to ask you if you have any relatives that own a restaurant so I make sure to never take you on a date there, just in case you plan on ending our relationship in such a dramatic way.” Q chocked on air and James leaned over, patting his back. “Are you coming down with something? Do you have a minion who dares to keep my lover in a draft?”

 

Q blinked slowly, opening and closing his mouth a few times. “Excuse me, but did you just refer to me as your lover?”

 

James smiled and gave him a little peck, cupping his chin. “Well, I consider you to be my lover. Am I just your bed warmer? Or nothing more than an apartment mate with the sweetest benefits in the universe? Because if that’s the case, then I might have made a mistake.”

 

“Which you are used to do,” Q grumbled out of habit, almost dragging James in the tub with him when the man pinched his nipple. “You’ll either suck it off or pinch it off, I swear. But just so you know, I’d rather you suck it off; if I am to be taken to the emergency room for bleeding profusely from my chest, I might as well still be riding a wave of pleasure while being humiliated.”

 

James clicked his tongue and made to pinch Q’s nipple again, but the younger man quickly lowered himself into the tub and moved as far from him as he could. “While I normally love to know what other things I could do to make you lose your mind, my most precious lover, I am currently more interested in the way you see us.”

 

“Darling, don’t I shower you in enough attention and adoration? Don’t you have the key to my apartment and the good side of the bed? Don’t I give you the best I have both at home and in the field?” If any, he should be the one asking James what they were and if he was using those terms that meant so much to Q lightly.

 

James grabbed his shoulders and lifted him out of the tub a little, kissing him roughly before pulling him in his lap, uncaring that his pants would also get wet now. “Well, if I have the good side of the bed then it is official: we are lovers.”

 

Q smiled, slowly starting to unbutton James' dirty shirt, getting more comfortable in his lap. “I am not going to say something sappy to describe just how happy I am, but feel free to imagine that I did. Now, what did you do?” He asked more seriously, fingers dangerously close to his nipples, more than happy that he hadn’t cut his nails. “Do we have to leave the country and change our names?”

 

“Well, I think you can use your actual name since—OUCH!”

 

“Don’t make me change your name to Jesse or Peyton or both,” Q warned, serious. “Quit joking around and tell me what you did.”

 

Lowering Q back in the water, James ditched his shirt and held the crumbled papers in front of Q’s face. “I am not saying that I don’t love this place, but you are constantly tinkering at something from within the building, the elevator is a backstabbing machine that I swear to god has it in for me and we have both reached the point when we are tripping over our things or our darling cats and their toys,” he said quickly, taking a deep breath – and what a strange sight Q was blessed to see: a nervous James Bond. “Also, since I wasn’t using it, I sold my apartment, added a little bit, and had my agent come up with a list of apartments that fit our budget, our security criteria, and that you my might like.”

 

Q was speechless, reaching for the papers with trembling hands. “James, I...” Q had learned that when words failed him, action would bail him out so he jumped out of the water and wrapped himself around James just as the man was starting to back-pedal, covering him in kisses. “But James, I have to chip in with something if it’s _our_ apartment—”

 

James covered his mouth and shushed him, kissing his nose. “Our apartment, yes. But _my_ anniversary gift to you, so no chipping in. And no need for you to get me anything; you gave me your apartment keys and I all gave you was a bad back.” He sneaked his hand in the tub and pinched Q’s lower back, grinning. “In a pleasant way, of course.”

 

“That’s not really a gift,” Q pointed out, biting his thumb as he watched James slowly take off his pants. “But come closer and I’ll give you a temporary one.”

 

“Darling, whenever I am next to you this,” he dropped his briefs and posed, moving just out of Q’s range, “is permanent. Now I am going to take a quick shower to get rid of all this filth I have on me, order us the nice dinner I wanted to cook, and then I’ll join your cosy little tub to help you give me that temporary gift of yours.”

 

“Well, if you take too long, the water will get cold and I’ll be too satisfied by my own touch to notice yours,” he teased and James was squeaky clean and already on his phone before Q was done dragging his hand down his chest. “Oh, I just hope you won’t be that fast when it comes to what we’re about to do.”

 

“Lover,” James grinned as he tossed his phone carelessly in the sink, “the sun will rise and I’ll still not be done with you.”

 

***

 

They found an apartment that they both loved in three days and in less than a week, they were already done with moving into the new one, taking time off from MI6 to make sure they got to christen every surface in every room.

 

Funnily enough, it was only then when everyone in MI6 found out about their relationship, the poor psychiatrists not knowing who they were supposed to comfort first: the ones who were crushing on Q or the ones who hoped to at least be a notch in Bond’s bedpost.

 

Then there were the ones who were seething with anger at having indirectly helped the two get together, not because they pinned for one of them, but because they were sure that they would only make themselves suffer. And by ones they meant R – who was sure that Q would one day walk in his new apartment with ‘the rabbit’ and find him going at it with a stranger in their bed – and Eve – who was sure that James will end up forcing himself to stop being an agent because he’d somehow get the idea that _that_ was what Q wanted and be miserable forever and end up hating the poor young man.

 

And really, MI6 was not paying them enough to deal with two deadly women who were really more annoyed that they weren’t informed first that the Quartermaster and the double oh agent had hooked up for good.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are love and food for the soul :)


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